


Dream Fic: Crossover

by scatterglory



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Stargate Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:57:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatterglory/pseuds/scatterglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I kid you not, this is a dream I had once, from which I woke up half an hour before my alarm, very confused and wanting to go back into it because dammit, I hate TBC dreams.  So, any weirdness/discontinuity is due to my fevered subconscious.  Also, props to anyone who can guess who the enemy actually is and what fandom they're from . . .</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dream Fic: Crossover

**Author's Note:**

> I kid you not, this is a dream I had once, from which I woke up half an hour before my alarm, very confused and wanting to go back into it because dammit, I hate TBC dreams. So, any weirdness/discontinuity is due to my fevered subconscious. Also, props to anyone who can guess who the enemy actually is and what fandom they're from . . .

John feels the strap of his gun biting into his shoulder as he speeds through the central room—_No, put that on like this, what, do you want to die tonight?_ The grim faces of his marines do nothing to reassure him; they are surrounded by, buried in the stunned, pale faces of the civilians he swore to guard and protect and lay down his life for and _no, Beckett, they aren't alive so you're not breaking any oaths, dammit,_ and the gun in Beckett's hand looks obscene, like Nature is laughing.

Maybe she is. If she is, she's the only one.

Elizabeth nods to him without words as he runs by; he barely returns the nod, catalogues her battle-gear and dismisses her even as she tries to force a smile out from behind her pinched lips. He doesn't pause until he reaches the corner where McKay and Zelenka have set up battle camp; the pathetic equipment they managed to salvage from Atlantis blinks weakly in the darkness of the god-awful room, its almost-black, vaguely metallic walls, floor and ceiling swallowing up the light, the heat, the warmth almost as quickly as will the . . .

McKay barely glances up at him, and John feels vaguely reassured for the first time. Even here, ever after all that's happened in the past few hours, McKay doesn't let anything get between him and his work and if there's a miracle to be pulled out of someone's ass in the 11th hour, McKay will find three and store two away for next time. Zelenka is more easily distracted, swallowing convulsively as he rakes John over with his eyes. He finally turns back to his work, but John doesn't miss the light that comes over his face, briefly, and he feels acid burn in his stomach because he _failed,_ don't they get it, he lost Atlantis and now most of them will die and he's still alive even though he shouldn't be because underneath all the charm and bravado, John Sheppard is a failure. His hand tightens on his gun, and he continues his circuit around the cold, dark, cavernous room, trying futilely to turn his friends and family into a brutally efficient army.

He feels the adrenaline pumping through him, keeping his body moving even after he finishes and they're as ready as they're ever going to be. And he's pissed off now, angrily following McKay into a small side-room to ream him a new one about not leaving the only vaguely defensible place they've found in this hell-hole because they need everyone to stay together, when McK—Rodney makes a small, frightened noise in the back of his throat and then his large hands, warm even in this bone-chilling cold, are pressing the sides of John's face and his mouth and tongue are hot and desperate and the heat that passes between their hips as they grind frantically into each other is the first heat that John's body has spontaneously produced since they arrived here. Rodney breaks off the kiss and looks at him with wide, terrified eyes, and John's hands tighten painfully on his shoulders as people outside the room start screaming and the only words John can make out are _they're coming, they're here._

John runs, bent double, down the line—_hold your fire, that's nothing, wait for the whites of their eyes red laserbeams_—he's not giving them anything, but they all look at him with hope and nausea threatens to overwhelm him. He reaches what he thinks is the middle of the line, their sole pathetic remnant of defense, and throws himself down into the mud, elbow-crawling forward till he can see over the slight ridge into the undulating mist.

The grey almost-cloud writhes and rolls in front of them, killing all visibility and everyone's ready to jump out of their own skins anyway. Next to him, a marine breathes harshly and he stifles the urge to shout at her because there's no danger in giving away your position when the enemy already knows where you are.

Then—yes, that was something, many somethings, and John's finger hovers over the trigger but he can't shoot yet, not until he sees—

There. One lone, red laser, like those pointers that were so popular when he was in flight school because the COs liked to use them in class and the cadets liked to pretend they were snipers because who really deserved it more than Sgt. Henley—but now there are hundreds, thousands of them slicing through the mist and barely illuminating the dark, cumbersome metallic bodies that slowly advance like death made flesh steel.

John has no idea if he's the first to fire, but the humans have maybe five seconds before the enemy responds, five seconds in which John's heart stops and he begins to feel the faintest glimmering of what can't possibly be hope because none of them will actually make it out of here alive—

And then the enemy returns fire and they're dying and screaming and bleeding around him and his world wants to narrow to the targets in front of him but he can't let that happen because his people are all looking to him and he has to lead them and this is war.

So he's running through the mud, firing when he can, shouting out orders through the blood and the fog and it's maybe hours or seconds and still the enemy advances slowly.

John glances up and sees her in the middle of the enemy—_she's one of them, not one of us,_ he has to remind himself, because she's blond and tall and her dress is red and her eyes are dancing and her mouth is cruel. He swings his gun around and fires and fires and fires, and she looks him directly in the eye and smiles and Lt. Cadman is there in front of him, gasping out something about casualties and retreat and he wants to scream at her, _that's not a fucking option,_ but then her eyes go out of focus as the bullet leaves a perfect circle in her forehead and she falls facedown in the mud.

He stares for a second, then turns to keep firing and that's when he sees Rodney running towards him, eyes shining and face split in a ridiculous grin and mouth opening to shout—and then Rodney's falling backwards, a surprised look on his face and John can't parse what's happening because it's absolutely, utterly impossible and then somehow he's kneeling next to Rodney whose blood is mixing with the mud beneath him and whose face is the color of ash.

Then he's shouting for a retreat—_civilians inside, marines provide cover!_— although no one's actually a civilian anymore—and he's drag-carrying the unconscious Rodney back into the complex because he knows what that smile meant, because of course Rodney figured it out, and because he can still feel a pulse.

The marines somehow manage to maintain formation as the civilians stream back towards what they mistakenly think is safety and Zelenka's babbling something about the gate and a power source and EM pulses and fields and John can't focus on anything but Beckett bending over Rodney and he almost shoots Elizabeth when she grabs his shoulder. Beckett says he's put Rodney in a coma and if they can just put him on ice . . . and John keeps staring as Beckett and a nurse roll Rodney into a body bag and pull the bag through the gate that Zelenka's somehow dialed and John's frozen in an oasis of calm as Elizabeth puts her arm around his waist and whispers _I love you_ in his ear and he hates her a little bit right now because she sighs and lays her head on his shoulder like it's the only thing left in the world. Her arm holds him there, unable to move or breathe or think as Ronon gives a manic, joyous death-cry and throws himself onto the almost-inside enemy, disappearing in a piercing flash as his weapon overloads and Teyla screams his name. Then she's gone too, pushed through the gate with the last of the civilians and Lorne is about to shove Zelenka through as well when the scientist looks over at John and his mouth whispers _now, Colonel._ And somehow Elizabeth has slipped him the controller, and he feels her eyes burning into him as he pushes the button and the EMP shorts out everything and the gate stands dead and the enemy doesn't stand at all and _oh god,_ there are ten of them left on the wrong side, alive and trapped and safe only as long as the residual EM field that Ro—Zelenka made lasts to keep the enemy out.

Lorne and the four other marines are looking at him, waiting for orders, and the three scientists with their frightened eyes are looking at him, waiting for hope, and Elizabeth with her goddamn arm around him is looking at him, waiting for nothing and everything and saying _If you make it out of here, take care of Rodney_ and he could almost love her for that because her voice is so solemn and none of them will survive much longer anyway.

And later, months or years or days, he can't count anymore, when they're done fucking he lies frozen and stares at the ceiling and she shivers next to him because it's always cold and he has nothing, nothing to give her because you can't be human when your enemies aren't.

The rooms are always dark and the enemy is just outside and who knows how long the EM field will last, and every day is the same, patrolling the perimeter of the metallic complex and waiting to die. Except on those days when the humans that serve the enemy sneak into the complex and they spend precious bullets killing every last one of them without even knowing what it is they're after because the other humans are never armed and once there was a child with them and John throws up until he's coughing blood which is strange because his froze a long time ago.

And then one day everything feels different, and they see humans gathering outside in a huge mob, looking like they're going to storm the place—_will they be able to disable the pulse?_ but it doesn't matter, because sooner or later the enemy will find a way to get them anyway; and when the humans start to flood in, they barely make it to (what John assumes are) the bathrooms, because there's only one entrance here and the ceiling is low and he wants to feel protected until he dies with his gun in his hands and his blood as frozen as the walls and the air and the glint of the light off the bodies of their executioners . . .

\------------------------------------

 

And then, I woke up. O.o


End file.
